Emir's Maya And Miguel Trilogy
by Nonamenonamenonameplease
Summary: Owing to its preschool nature and other details, the show (as far as I recall) never considered extended consequences of Maya's constant ideas and meddling. Chronicles an illegal bullfight; a musical school project; and a faulty camping trip that nearly costs the Santos family Miguel's well-being. Rated K-plus to be safe. Enjoy.
1. Virar Embaixo

Note: This one only involves the events of Mala Suerte through The Taming Of Mr. Shue premiere-wise. Don't take anything you read personally especially if you're Portuguese; no offense intended.

Numerous Spanish and Portuguese alike enjoy a good bullfight often. Lengthy names and similar languages supplementing this fact might witness others construing them as being the same. But today's trip to a dusty arena used mostly during county and state fairs displayed eminent singularities. The main bullfighter rode a horse, put on more an art show than a fight, was joined by a few other bullfighters, and held off slaughtering. Few onlookers besides some odd-looking preteen pair in balcony seats minded another pair marching about serving snacks. Current festivities seemed harmless to a fault. But a certain girl's future interference may either create a silly mess or something more. The Santos twins bore mystified expressions on account of because they hadn't lived as long as their maternal grandmother. "Extraño es como extraño," Miguel commented, "This is the weirdest bullfight I ever saw."

"Si," Maya agreed, "Are those people fighting the bull or putting on a play?"

"Portuguese bullfights differ from those you kids have grown accustomed to in that they're more rhythmic and involve many matadors at once," Elena explained, "And you can already see the main one rides a horse. But above all, the bull's death follows the crowd's departure. It's illegal to kill the bull before the crowd in a Portuguese bullfight."

"It's a shame they must torture or kill it, period," Maya sighed, "What a cruel world we live in. Mundo cruel."

"Chin up, Maya, it could be worse. Can't you think of anything positive here?"

"…Well, at least it's less messy than past fights. The matadors really know what they're doing and where it's all going."

"Now that's the nieta **I** know."

"On top of that, we also don't have to witness the bull's death publicly," Miguel noted, "A shame Mama and Papi couldn't join us."

Just then, a pleasant fish odor – small yet detectable – from another observer's snack basket tickled the trio's olfactory cells. "Mmm," they chorused.

"Is that what I think it is?" Elena said.

"What?" the twins wondered.

"Dried codfish, a specialty in Portugal. It's about time the stuff hit snack bars. Can't remember the last occasion I tasted it."

"Hup hup hup hup hup…" came two voices. All three heads turned to catch the second aforementioned pair (also Portuguese like the matadors) march toward them, probably having heard the old woman's last request. The boy sported wavy purple hair lowered in the back with a frizzy tip sticking up just above the forehead and wore a red-orange long-sleeved shirt; lemon-yellow pants; brown socks with orange polka dots; and dark-gray tennis shoes. Clad in a turquoise sleeveless shirt; indigo pants; yellow-and-beige-striped socks; and gray tennis shoes, the girl had her white wavy hair tied into pigtails and a ponytail. The Santos kin eyed the couple strangely how they moved about as if strolling through a meadow and stopped short, puffing up their chests proudly despite obvious anxiety.

"Someone ask for dried cod?" the boy spoke.

"Are you feeling okay?" Miguel inquired.

"Only happy to be of service," the girl answered, "As coisas não podiam ser melhores."

"My brother asked you a question," Maya said, noticing two older kids' flinching eyes, "You look like you could use a break."

The couple put on a façade. "Fatiga?" the boy faked, "What fatiga? I don't see fatiga anywhere, do you?"

"Não," the girl chimed, "Not a thing in sight." From the looks in their eyes, the couple knew the Santos kin wanted a straight answer and so changed the subject.

"Someone ask for dried cod?" both repeated. Fortunately for the two, the trio let them have their way.

"Three baskets, please," Elena requested. The couple passed out one snack basket each, all containing seven fish strips; accepted money from the female senior citizen; and left them to munch. Walking speeds fluctuated between nothing short of a human being's average pace and one or two miles quicker. "Mmmm. Better than I expected."

"So true," Miguel agreed, "They oughta serve this at school."

That's when Maya created a new conversation sans their grandmother via the following whispering. "Hey, Miguel?"

"What?"

"I'm amazed those two had enough energy to serve it without making a mess all over. Did you see their nervous eyelids? Don't they ever relax?" Miguel thought it over. Maya's acts of bringing even the smallest social oddments into light always guaranteed major chaos. Only she truly noticed how Elena danced by herself that one night in their apartment, resulting in a mission the following day to find her a new sweetheart (whatever happened to their maternal grandfather?). And if not that, then maybe the last bet in which Miguel stopped playing video games for 24 hours provided that Maya minded her own business for the same time length made a more effective reminder.

That's not to say Miguel completely resisted Maya's plans. Even he admitted putting Tito in that 'Boy Jaguar' play to cure his stage fright seemed reasonable enough despite nearly wrecking it all and getting kicked out. Miguel also admitted the necessity behind putting Maggie's uncle's wedding and the dance competition in the same room in wake of the bet's conclusion more so than anything else since the Chinese girl asked for help after all; like he said, that wasn't meddling. Ah, Maya, what a collectivist. "They did seem nervous. Come to think of it, aren't they pretty young to be working here?"

"That too. Think something funny's going on?"

"Whatever you're thinking, Maya, it's gotta wait. Ahora no está simplemente el tiempo."

"I'll try." But things merely agitated them both further as the bullfight progressed. The twins saw the older kids literally slip up around the bleachers at different time points with Maya growing fidgety while Miguel constantly sighed. Elena noticed the condition of her grandchildren and had a good idea why despite that she didn't catch the same sights. Prancing like playful children was for the most part one thing, but what were the two Portuguese hiding? Why deny apprehension? Why immediately change the subject? In short, nothing added up.

"I'm sure it was this way," Miguel guessed a couple hours later. In the bullfight's final few minutes, the twins felt the need for a break and had been directed towards the arena restrooms within. But someone messed up with directions, and now the two found themselves standing by empty horse stalls.

"No, it had to be past that green crate," Maya argued, "At least, I think it was green."

"Horrendous," a male voice echoed, "You flopped around like some sick green finches." With expert hiding and sneaking, the Santos twins peeked around the corner to catch the source of commotion. The same strange pair from the balcony seats clamped down on the same two Portuguese who appeared worse for wear (all six appeared 12 years old). The ensuing argument provided no prizes for guessing where all four stood on the employment hierarchy.

"We're doing the best we can," the Portuguese girl defended, "We work around the clock with no other help."

"Your best ain't good enough," the female superior countered, "Do you two like making complete fools of yerselves or something? Do you believe customers like these inconveniences?"

"Uhhh…" the lower pair stuttered.

"Aha," the male superior continued, "Your silence says it all."

"Whadda you mean 'silence'?" the Portuguese boy countered, "We stuttered."

"I'll speak however I want, pal. Need I remind you both the umpteenth time that you'll do what we tell you?"

"My sentiments exactly," the female superior continued, "And we're telling you to either shape up or endure the big guns, if you know what I mean." Ever unnoticed, the Santos twins cringed at the word 'guns'. Unpredictability looked mean if those attitudes were anything to go by. As the Portuguese lowered their depressed heads, the two superiors demonstrated surprising ambidexterity by grabbing the former into friendly headlocks – male on male, female on female – and speaking gently. "Now, now. No one likes a frown."

"How can we be cheerful when our siblings' lives are currently at stake?" the Portuguese girl said.

"It's good," the male superior said, "Try to understand that these are tough times even for us. Business pressures get anybody's crankiness going. It's a fact of life."

"Você não diz," the Portuguese boy groaned.

The superiors then let go and reaffirmed their no-nonsense attitudes, though not as uppish. "Now try to remember this time," the female superior continued, "Shape up. Neither this business nor the kidnappers will tolerate further mishaps. Understand?" The Portuguese nodded solemnly.

"Wonderful," the male superior concluded, "Now that's what we're talking about. You may proceed with stall cleanup." Only when the superiors left did the Santos twins smartly consider it safe to step out. Plus, the two Portuguese shuddered from the previous physical contact.

"Yeesh," the girl commented, "If they touch me that way again, I'm gonna puke."

"Same here," the boy agreed.

"What was that all about?" Miguel wondered, him and Maya stepping out and spooking the pair.

"What're you doing here?" the girl asked.

"Hi, I'm Maya Santos, and this my twin brother Miguel."

"Cumprimentos. I'm Valerie Dias, and this is my boyfriend Riviera Lavradio."

"Nice to meet you again," Miguel said, "Now, why the argument? Who were those two?" Riviera and Valerie resumed their proud demeanors from earlier through such stuttering responses as 'Are you joking?', 'Nah, nothing's wrong', and 'Aw, everything couldn't be better'. But the twins played them at their own game ala repeated irked responses, thereby forcing the Portuguese off their arrogance.

"Fooey," Riviera forfeited, "Okay, everything's not good. É um nightmare."

"Why do let them push you around like that?" Maya asked, "Why not just quit?"

"Nenhuma lata," Valerie explained, "Three weeks back, my sister Herminia and Riviera's brother Salazar were involved in a kidnapping: Crude figures simply entered a quiet neighborhood and almost forced younger kids into a limousine. Our siblings, being the warm-hearted individuals they are, took the tikes' place while running errands for our parents. To get 'em back safely, the kidnappers demand 99,000 within two months."

"Ouch," Miguel spoke, "That is awful. But how can you put up with all this? You should just leave it to the adults."

"Every little bit helps," Riviera answered, "We love our siblings too much. Our parents could never dish out that much money together in just two months. Neighborhood odd jobs didn't pay enough the first week, so we took up jobs here. We're that devoted."

"Do the cops know?" Maya put in.

"Sim," Valerie continued, "But if word ever got out publicly, the kidnappers might panic. Brock and Rolanda have been pretty generous despite their attitudes. They gave us good-paying positions here since we're too young to get hired anyplace else."

"Multitasking positions," Riviera added, "We sell snacks, mop bleachers, pick up trash, and clean stalls and restrooms. Working from 8:00 AM to 7:00 PM six days a week and 8:00 to 2:00 every Saturday leaves less time for schooling and fun. Miraculously, we're in better shape than children in all those poor areas around the world who pick grapevines and coffee trees."

"Still, we're not the best laborers around," Valerie said, "Our clumsiness has wasted enough supplies to pay for a trip to Vancouver Island. Decrease in quality efforts results in decreased pay, so…" Rather than finish, the Portuguese female and her boyfriend began shoveling straw. The twins backed into the shadows once more, barely ingesting vocal and visual news alike. Such familial veneration mingling amongst utter distress was too heavy to bear. How much of their own lives had Maya and Miguel taken for granted? Certainly the younger pair encountered plenty conflict time after time, but nothing this dire. It shouldn't be happening. Riviera and Valerie didn't deserve thus; they should be outside enjoying life and getting a decent education. But no, some lowly interlopers ruined it all.

Several consecutive seconds of ogling upped the twins' pity. Someone must intercede, and Maya knew who fit the bill. Miguel always knew where that familiar glint in her eyes led, but why argue in this case? "Oh, Miguel," she said, "Look at the trouble they're in. I can't stand it."

"So it's that time again?"

"And why not? This isn't right." Miguel eyed the older kids' fretful eyes again unable to argue. The twins then exchanged nods and approached them once more. "Excuse me." The Portuguese paused. "Valerie, like you said, you two work around the clock with no other help."

"Go home, children," came Brock's voice, him and Rolanda reentering, "Visiting hours are nearly over, and these two got plenty on their hands as is."

"Are you two really the bosses here?" Miguel queried.

"Yeah, what of it?" Rolanda retorted.

"Aren't you also pretty young to be working here?"

"Like that matters," Brock stated, "Now beat it."

"Wait a second," Maya requested, "Er, if it's not too much trouble, how 'bout letting me and my brother here assist them?" The Portuguese jolted where Miguel, Brock, and Rolanda didn't.

"I beg your pardon?" Rolanda said

"Don't listen, they were both on their way…" Riviera began.

"No," the female Spaniard interrupted, "C'mon, they need all the money they can get. Their siblings were kidnapped a while back."

"Yeah, we know," Brock stated, "They already told us."

"So whaddaya say? Can we please help? Oh, please? Please please please please please?"

The two superiors ogled them while analyzing the proposition before chatting privately. Since the vocals dodged other eardrums, what else could Maya do but grind her teeth just as quietly. "You sure your schedules can handle the strain?" Rolanda soon questioned.

"Absolutamente," was the answer.

"Very well. I'll assume you had school today, so you're lucky it's Friday right now. Be here before 8 o'clock tomorrow morning, and we'll go on from there. Feel free to invite some friends along if you wish."

"Will do." Brock and Rolanda acknowledged this and left, exchanging a wink once they knew nobody else could see. Maybe the superiors concealed a detail or two? Acceptance had been quick after all. But Riviera and Valerie focused on other matters.

"You shouldn't've done that," Valerie spoke.

"Nah, no biggie," Maya said, "We've done stuff like this before."

"No, you really shouldn't've done that. These are our affairs. We didn't want to involve you."

"Too late," Miguel said, "When my sister sets a goal, there's no turning back. But what'd Rolanda mean by 'endure the big guns'?"

"In other words, we must take on a task in which we're still learning should we slip up too much: bullfighting."

"Well, that can't be too bad…uh, right?"

"That's why I said we're still learning. Today's fight was one of the cleanest we've had in months." Ooh, harsh. From what family and neighbors shared, and from what they'd absorbed through various media, the Santos twins took this news with heavy hearts upon departure. One odd job after another at the arena looked promising all of a sudden.

Saturday morning saw eight child workers standing out on the field awaiting orders. Today seemed rather tranquil since the show wouldn't begin until 1:00 PM, meaning also that the younger kids needed not worry over anyone nitpicking about their ages (most people probably considered 12 years a reasonable enough minimum adult age). Andy, Chrissy, Maggie, and Theo were only glad to lend their efforts after hearing the twins' acquired news. Brock and Rolanda felt plenty confident regardless of how well a job their unofficial underlings executed. Did they know about the exploits Maya always dragged everyone else into? Did the ruffian superiors guess all eight would fail in the end? Equipment in hand, the group currently cleaned up a portion of trashy bleachers while conversing: Maya, Maggie, Theo, Miguel, and Valerie underneath; Chrissy, Riviera, and Andy above. "How goes it down there?" Andy called.

"Wonderful," Theo replied, "We've picked up five aluminum cans, eleven gum wrappers, three candy wrappers, nine empty bags for chips and pretzels, and seventeen pieces of scrap paper altogether."

"Make that six aluminum cans," Maggie refuted, depositing said item into her sack.

"I like how you two dyed your hair," Chrissy complimented, "What brand you use?"

"Obrigado," Riviera replied, "That's Portuguese for 'thank you'. Except we didn't dye it."

"You didn't?"

"Nope. These are our natural hair colors."

"So, how'd you kids get here so easily?" Valerie inquired, "You didn't squeal, didja?"

"Nah," Miguel answered, "We all told our families we'd be strolling around town all day, and they bought it."

"It's half the truth," Maggie shrugged, "Half's better than none, you know."

"Indeed," Valerie agreed.

"Cousin Tito couldn't make it today," Maya added, "Yes, Miguel and I have a cousin who lives in the same apartment. Anyway, he and his parents are out of town right now." All paused when the two superiors passed by for inspection, only to resume work at the snap of Brock's fingers. Passing glances from Rolanda or him unnerved everybody but the two Portuguese. What were the former hiding? And what more did the latter know?

Perturbation struck the bullies hours later, over what no one realized. If given a chance, one might place bets on either possible awareness of occurrences in the Santos family's sector or on the fact that they couldn't remember when the arena last looked so immaculate. The eight followed the school tradition of eating lunch at 11:00, despite that Valerie and Riviera desired their traditional timeslot of 1:00 to 3:00. All were confused at seeing them use a fork and knife on their sandwiches – fork in right hand, knife in left – until the twins remembered what Elena previously explained. Miguel and Maya then encouraged the others to eventually shrug, follow along with their own meals, and think it somewhat funny. But trouble was imminent once they stood between stalls and bathrooms after lunch. "Disgraceful," Chrissy said, "We're gonna need a weeks' worth of bathing again. How'll we explain this to our parents?"

"You won't," Riviera said, "Bathe at our houses. We'll lend you some old clothes while our parents clean yer current wardrobes."

"Well, that's one problem down," Miguel noted, "But this is gonna take forever."

All eyes turned when the bobbles in Maya's hair started glowing as she excogitated. Disclosure and airiness switched positions at that: Now it was the older pair's turn to be shocked on the last flash. "Eso es!"

"Hit the deck!" Riviera and Valerie cried, collapsing upon the ground and covering their heads. When no doom came, they faced the dumbfounded six while inspecting Maya over. Tapping her bobbles three times did nothing more than make the two flinch.

"You don't catch on quickly, do you?" Maggie said. The Portuguese nodded no.

"Are you some kind of robot?" Valerie asked, invoking giggling.

"No," Andy assured, "That just happens whenever Maya gets a big idea. I know, I was surprised myself when I first moved here."

"Indeed," Maya continued, "Anybody got…never mind, that'll take too long. Is there any rope around here?"

Thick and thin ropes alike (some even frayed) were strewn all across the stalls, down hallways, and into rooms farther out minutes later. Pitchforks, dustpans, brooms, mops, and other utensils had been tied on various ends. Makeshift lever and pulley arrangements dotted opposite walls. Obviously, Maya planned a contraption that could help the octet clean stalls and bathrooms simultaneously. Strands came loose from the frayed ropes but made steady connections. Still wary from earlier shock, the Portuguese duo eyed said girl every few seconds. "'Happens whenever she gets a big idea', he said," Riviera whispered as they all made the final adjustments, "Whadda you suppose?"

"Must be special voice-activated, battery-powered bobbles," Valerie guessed.

"And, done," Theo announced, "If all goes well, we might still have a quarter hour left before the fight starts. Anyone up for a round of Clean-O-Rama?"

"Let's begin," Riviera instructed. He, Maya, Andy, and Maggie took up the left side while the other half populated the right. All then took careful aim and rotated or pulled those levers right away. Old straw got tossed into a small cart to make room for new straw. Soap bubbles from superb lavatory porcelain scrubbing practically swallowed nasty buildup. Everything went smoothly until dust clogged the kids' vision, their esophagi, and the simple machines.

"Ack…can't breathe…or…see!" Chrissy gagged.

"Hey!" Miguel cried, "It's…ack…stuck!" Everybody else discovered the same problem when the mist cleared.

"Uh oh," Valerie said, "There's dust lodged in." Each mouth could blow out some but not all dust particles. Each hand then tugged, pulled, and shook each lever. Push came to shove when Valerie and Riviera just lost it and broke their levers loose. Uneven weight distribution dropped two pitchforks upon the cart, scratching its sides. In turn, this dragged cleaning utensils out of the bathrooms and (with two-thirds of add-on pieces) tossed them into the back wall. A third dropped pitchfork deeply scratched a pillar before slightly piercing a stall wall. A shovel swung low and shattered a tiny nearby window. Ropes and everything else drooped like leaves as the octet held still without sustaining injury. Afterward, they regrouped to observe the mess together.

"Sick," Andy said, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Can't say we're surprised," Brock commented, him and Rolanda stepping in, "The bathrooms look as if detergent companies paid a visit."

"Minor mishaps," Maya abruptly stated, reaching for a broom, "We'll have it cleaned up in a jiffy. It won't happen again."

"No it won't," Rolanda said, "'Cause this is the last straw."

"You can't be serious," Theo argued.

"You're right," Brock ascertained, "We're actually dead serious."

"Please don't," Maya begged, "It's all a mistake, nobody's perfect. Give us another chance."

"Absolutely not," Rolanda declined, "Riviera and Valerie have slipped up one too many times, so they must be disciplined."

"But bullfighting, when they're tired and don't even know the first thing about it? That's cruel and unusual punishment!"

"And we have you to blame for it."

"Me?"

"Don't play dumb," Brock said, "You're the ringleader of this outfit, right? Be thankful they took responsibility for yer actions."

"It's still not fair! Please don't go through with it! Please please please please please please please please please please please please please, please, please….please?"

Ever apathetic and irked, Brock and Rolanda eyed the group. Maya's rapid-fire begging might've worked on other people in their neighborhood, but the two child managers weren't as understanding. Rolanda stared a pitiful Maya eye to eye for some hard crooning. "Why don't you do yourself a favor and get off your high horse, for once in your life?"

"Hey, wait a minute," Miguel interrupted, only to be cut off.

"Believe me, kid, you'll save yourself a world of stress. Riviera and Valerie had a deal with us: They'd get a fraction of the needed money to save their siblings if they worked here long enough but would suffer the maximum penalty if they messed up one more time. Your deal went that if you did a good job helping, they'd be able to leave early and get on with their lives. Didn't you know what you were getting into? Did you really think there was an easy way out? Well, look where it got you, yer brother, and yer little friends instead."

"Lesson 1: Ideas can be dangerous," Brock added, "You practically set those poor lovebirds back to last week. But hey, we're nice people. If you kids hurry, you can all have front-row seats to be by yer new friends' sides the whole time." He faced the Portuguese. "You got a half hour left for preparation. Don't even think of skipping out." And the bullies left. By now, Maya felt two inches tall.

"Oh, no," she moaned, "Ohhhh, no. This is all my fault."

"No it isn't," Valerie disagreed.

"Yes it is. You heard what those two said."

"Empty words," Riviera said, "You saw how terribly we performed our jobs yesterday: This was an incident waiting to happen, so we would've done ourselves in."

"This is all those kidnappers' faults," Maggie said.

"Got that right," Valerie said, she and Riviera temporarily flaring up, "If we could only expose that blasted Rolanda and Brock for the phonies they are…"

"What are you saying?" Chrissy wondered.

"Another thing we hid," Riviera answered, "Those creeps are connected to the kidnappers, we know it. We saw the guilt in their eyes and heard it in their voices when they offered us our jobs." The younger kids were shocked. "But…yeah."

1:00 PM sounded today's delayed doom. Sitting in their balcony positions ever arrogant, Brock and Rolanda noticed Maggie and Andy were without the other four and shrugged assuming the missing parcel wimped out. The 'junior matadors' in question stood a tad apart recognized by few due to virtuoso disguises. "Good evening, folks!" the announcer spoke, "Ready to partido?" All except the younger preteens cheered. "Excellent! On the left side, weighing…oh, who cares? Give it up for Angel Agarrando!" Riviera feigned enthusiasm and waved. "On the right side, Mármore Do Cyber!" That was Valerie's cue. "Together, they are our junior matadors Os Dois Hemlocks! Now let's see those bulls!" The doors opened, and out stepped said animals: Valerie's opponent had a red backside supplementing a brown underbelly whereas Riviera's bull was mostly white with yellow on his tail tip, chin, and the top of his head. The announcer motioned to the red and brown one. "Out from the bowels of Mt. St. Helens, it's the mighty Emanações!" More cheering ensued before the announcer pointed to the white and yellow bull. "Breaking free from his icy cage on Mt. Rainier, the lean mean Granizo!" More cheering again. "And, begin!"

"Remember what we learned," Riviera instructed.

"You too," Valerie returned. Unfortunately, the bulls had plans to execute this fight the Spanish way. With constant dodging and cloth-waving, Andy and Maggie felt surprised the rabid cattle kept charging despite that Riviera used an orange cloth and Valerie a blue one.

"I still can't believe what they told us earlier: 'Bulls are colorblind and actually hate having things waved in their faces'," Andy commented.

"Good thing," Maggie noted, "Otherwise, some of us'd be in trouble." The Portuguese duo did okay the first two minutes, but the bulls soon caught on. Torn cloths were just the beginning; it took Emanações and Granizo six tries each until the preteens held no less than one-twelfth of their burlap portions. Afterward, the bulls' horns tore their sleeves. With no other options, Riviera and Valerie ran for their lives around the ring vainly hoping for assistance. But no, Rolanda and Brock planned to drag their suffering out from the start. Worse yet, few other than Andy and Maggie cared and even thought it made the show better. Perhaps lances nearby might alleviate things?

"This is taking too long," Miguel said, "Riviera and Valerie must be shish-kebobs by now."

"And it's only been a half hour," Chrissy added. The missing four stood in a suburban section adjacent to both their own neighborhood and the arena. It seems said couple conjured a new plan shortly before the fight, once their superiors departed: Maggie and Andy kept watch over the fight while the others traversed Lyon Blvd. where the Portuguese claimed Rolanda and Brock held their siblings hostage, according to the ransom tape.

"Make that a half hour and ten minutes," Theo refuted.

"Darn lo," Maya groaned, "If we don't find Salazar and Herminia soon, I'll never be able to show my face in public again. What'd they say their houses looked like? Green? Dark tan?"

"Hold on a second," Chrissy remembered, "We forgot something."

"What?" the others wondered.

"Why didn't we call the police?"

"Because it wouldn't've done us much good unless we knew where the siblings were being held prisoner," Miguel instantly replied, "The police are already swamped."

"Yeah, but…" Theo put in, "Wait a minute! We could've at least called them to stop the fight!" All paused with shocked expressions and smacked their own faces. Criminy! Maybe the bully superiors had more connections than…

"Oh!" Maya declared, uncharacteristically ticked, "Let's just…hello?" The group started calling out. "Hello? Herminia Dias? Salazar Lavradio?"

"Say something!" Miguel added, "Give us a sign!"

"Herminia!" Chrissy spoke, "Where are you?"

"Salazar?" Theo chimed, "Hey! …Ow!"

"What's wrong?" Maya asked.

"Something blinded me."

"Oop!" the other three cried. It took the tiny light three occasions before the group discovered it emanating from the basement window of a dirty, cube-shaped house. Wiping off the sooty mask unveiled silhouettes of two older kids – one of which made that same flashy effect – tied up to a chair. Seeing the four made the hostages mumble and wiggle fanatically.

"Awesome," Theo noted, "Just like in the movies. Think it's them?"

"Let's find out," Chrissy said. Searching around for unlocked windows or doors proved futile, until Miguel noticed some old wire strewn by the stoop. Through miniature engineering courtesy of Theo, the wire was not only thin enough to slink through the one window's edges but also thick and strong enough to unhitch the lock. Plus, with more patience and effort, each child successfully entered the room. A nearby overhead light boasted plenty life regardless of the building's overall trashy appearance. The male hostage had straight maroon hair cut into a flattop and was clad in plum shorts and a light-cyan sleeveless shirt with pink outlining the hem and sleeve holes. The female hostage, of whose feet clutched a plastic container making that flash, boasted raspberry hair tied in twin ponytails and wore a dark-olive t-shirt and a white-and-olive plaid jumper.

"Are you Salazar Lavradio and Herminia Dias?" Miguel questioned.

"Mm hm! Mm hm!" the pair confirmed. The young quartet ungagged and untied the teenagers and then waved the air. Although Salazar and Herminia didn't look dirty, they certainly smelled that way. Plus, Brock and Rolanda had apparently been generous since the two looked well-fed.

"Don't know who you are, and we can't repay you," Herminia spoke, "Finally caught that flash, huh? I couldn't wait."

"Me neither, but it pays to have a calm head," Salazar chimed.

"Your siblings told us about the kidnapping," Theo explained, "How and why'd they do it?"

"Long story," Herminia blurted, "Amusement park. Shut down. Lawsuits."

"Huh?" the four wondered.

"Oh, Herminia," Salazar said, "Brock and Rolanda's families are in cahoots with these careless owners of an amusement park 50 miles north of here that closed a few years ago. Customers filed lawsuits involving unsanitary restroom facilities, food poisoning, and even an accident on some illegal ride that put many in traction and killed around five or six. The owners and managers must still pay off a conglomerate debt of 99,000."

"That answers that question," Maya said, "And how you got kidnapped?"

"Those brats' parents used to be first-level managers there," Herminia added, "The two wanted the debt finished ahead of time no matter what because they felt it took away privileges they never deserved to begin with. Crianças más; bad children, you know? But they knew something might go wrong should they themselves execute their scheme, so they enlisted former concession stand employees. And you know the rest."

"Where do the bullfights fit in?" Miguel questioned.

"Cover-up. All part of getting their money the easy way without arousing much suspicion. By the way, how're my sister and Salazar's brother?"

"Terrible," Chrissy said, "They are fighting for their very lives in today's bullfight as we speak."

"No," Salazar gasped, "They can't be doing that, não têm bastante experiência." Rather than let the conversation continue, Herminia gathered everybody together to bust through the door. Once they busted their way outside, the six wasted no more time running along the sidewalk down two blocks searching out a police car. Fortunately, two lay ahead.

"Officers!" the six chorused, attracting two officers' attention.

"What is it, kids?" one asked, "And who hasn't had a bath in ages?"

"Hold the cameras," the second one commented, doing a double take at Salazar and Herminia, "Are you two…?"

"Sim nós somos," Herminia interrupted, "Can you get us to this one arena uptown holding a bullfight? Our siblings are in trouble."

"I believe you," the first officer said. Herminia, Salazar, and Theo rode in the first car while the other three rode in the second. Simultaneously, both drivers radioed for backup.

Meanwhile, things obviously got no better back at the stadium. Both plenty injured though not seriously (and identities unveiled), Riviera and Valerie had long since been knocked over with more damage coming along. Every time they tried standing back up, the bulls knocked them down again. Damaged lances littered the field. By now, the crowd grew more restless at the atrocious sight; Maggie and Andy now shielded their eyes. Brock and Rolanda of course remained apathetic as ever. "I can't stand it," Maggie spoke, "I just can't stand it."

"Me neither," Andy agreed, "Where are they?"

"Oh, it's too much!" the announcer said, "Os Dois Hemlocks can't proceed! Is this the end?" Unlike everybody else, victims and bulls ignored police sirens outside the arena. Salazar and Herminia were the first to step out (no one minded their odors anymore).

"Against better judgement," the former commented.

Whereas Brock and Rolanda's jaws dropped, neither bulls nor victims noticed Herminia enter (holding a green cloth) until she spoke out. "Hey, bulls!" All four looked up, the human half just as disbelieving as their 'superiors'.

"Sis?" Valerie gasped.

"They did it," Riviera added. Herminia waved the cloth while hop-skipping, stringing the bulls along like a gullible person to a trick dollar bill. Emanações and Granizo charged the female teenager standing at the very end, only to halt inches away just as suddenly. They turned back, found Salazar holding some salt licks, and changed their minds. Another halt came right after he tossed the licks a foot before them, thereby taming the wild pair and canceling their rampage. Herminia, Salazar, the Santos twins and their friends, and some police officers then aided the injured ones.

"Long time, no see," Salazar greeted, "You two do too much."

"Runs in the families," Riviera said.

"Sheesh, do you both reek," Valerie commented.

"It's the smell of reunion," Herminia said, "Everything's going to be all right now, so just relax."

That's when Miguel noticed an empty space in the balcony where Rolanda and Brock belonged. "Hey, where'd those creeps go?"

Frustrated groans from outside the arena answered that question nicely. "Ask question, get answer," the accompanying officer spoke. All walked towards the source and found the bullies – who'd apparently tried escaping but were caught with ease – vainly sweet-talking their way out.

"No…no…" Brock stuttered.

"It's not what…it's not…" Rolanda put in.

"Uh huh," another officer picked up, "Better accompany us downtown." So half the cops escorted away antagonists (snapping fingers in frustration) and protagonists alike while the other half motioned for the audience to leave.

The afternoon was the first kindest moment bestowed on the Lavradio and Dias clans in those painful three weeks. Riviera and Valerie would recover speedily but could've been worse off if not for their rescue. With Brock and Rolanda sorted out proper, city council held off future bullfights until further notice. Andrew and Lagos Dias had every reason to pour heavy affection on their daughters just like Vasco and Elizabeth Lavradio did their sons. Evening saw Santiago and Rosa Santos hold a celebration commemorating the miracle, with everybody – Elena; said victimized families; Andy, Chrissy, Maggie, Theo, and their families; Paco; and Tito and his parents, who'd just arrived back – invited. (Herminia and Salazar had long since acquired hot showers with a change of clothes.) "Oh, dia feliz," Vasco declared, "Three weeks is too long."

"You said it," Santiago agreed.

"You four got some wonderfully determined niños," Rosa added.

"Obrigada, Rosa," Lagos replied.

"What's wrong, Maya?" Riviera asked, noticing the girl's ever-downcast expression, "Não é você que aprecía-se?"

"It's good to know I could help again," was the response, "But again, I'm sorry you had to get hurt the way you did."

"Now, now," Valerie assured, "Pare de responsabilizar-se. We already told you we were headed in that direction anyhow. I repeat: It's…not…your…fault." But Maya's spirits refused to uplift, so the couple exchanged a glance and looked at her strangely while using some reverse psychology. "Don't smile. I'm warning you."

That did the trick. Maya's lips curved upward though she preferred denying it. "Don't smile," Riviera repeated. With that, the Spanish girl let her joy loose via a giggle. "There. That's better."

"Oh, alright. I'll take your word for it."

"Wonderful," Valerie concluded, "If not that, then you'll be happy to know that our so-called 'superiors' will be in juvenile hall for quite some time." Doubt departed Maya as the three rejoined the partying procession.

The End


	2. Knock About

Note: This one involves the events of Miguel's Wonderful Life through The Big Idea, just to be safe.

Friday came like nothing same as any other. Most would spend their time at the nearest movie theatre or running around a park unless they'd been assigned something big by their teacher/s. The following conversation by the Santos twins and their friends while walking home together accompanied with disappointed yet concentrating expressions clarified that they couldn't spend thus doing anything else. "I can't believe Mr. Nguyen and Mrs. Langley gave us a project to work on over the weekend," Andy began, "Of all times."

"Tell me about it," Chrissy agreed, "Weekends were designed for kids to goof off and act like complete jerks. With the occasional chores, of course. But not work on school assignments."

"Well, we better can whatever plans we cooked up in the pan and fan our flaming minds in vans," Miguel stated, "Anyone have ideas? Maya?"

"First come, first serve, huh?" Maya responded.

"Yep," Maggie said, "You're the imagination station here."

"True, but leadership is only so good anymore. I don't enjoy people thinking I'm calling the shots here. We gotta do this together."

"Glad the teachers allowed imitations on the condition we give credit where it's due," Theo remarked, "We could reenact that bullfight we once put out of business." All six heads then lowered at the very thought. "That is, if we didn't want so badly to forget it."

Every mood except Miguel's sparked up again just as quickly. "It might still be fun," Maggie continued, "The project, I mean. It might be a fun project provided we make it count. You forgot the teachers never set numbers of group members."

"How 'bout we build midget furniture out of cardboard tubes?" Andy suggested, "Give everybody a good lesson in construction. Or even better, entire houses from hard-packed sand…if we got some available."

"All ideas are good, Andy," Maya complimented, "Keep 'em comin'."

"You feeling okay, Miguel?" Theo asked, noticing his friend's unchanging expression.

"Huh? What?"

That's when awareness spread amongst the ranks. "What's the matter?" Maya queried.

"Oh…you know, the bullfight? The effects will remain for a few years though our friends are fine."

The others weren't entirely sure about Miguel's statement's authenticity (i.e. something else must've bothered him) but let it slide. "No problem," Chrissy assured, "I bet we will all feel better after we do this project." Within the resumed concentration, a spooked Theo caught some blurry shape behind a hedge the group passed which he just ignored. The question to whether somebody indeed spied on them must wait another day.

Some wouldn't spend their time sleeping in, school project or otherwise, if they had Maya's signature fidgety energy flow. She'd woken up most certainly before Miguel, eaten breakfast, and performed all her usual morning preparations a short while back. Constant pacing between both children's bedroom doors supplemented a repeated concentrating expression. Paco got dizzy not only watching the charade but also imitating it; three times Maya almost stepped on him, and feathers littered the floor as usual. "What to do for a project…what to do…can't believe it's due next week…but then again…maybe…no, that won't do…or perhaps…fine time to run out of ideas. I've always got something." Maya stopped short at an enthusiastic Paco – uncharacteristically silent today – flapping his wings as if hoping to receive an award. "Sorry, Paco. Three other groups are already doing something on pets. I want us to stand out." Paco drooped.

Hearing Miguel's snoring through a closed door, Maya shook her head wondering how he could sleep in at a time like this. The temptation to awaken him loomed over her head until something else caught her attention. A low resonance echoed through the halls. In a change of plans, Maya let Miguel continue sleeping while her ears led her towards the front door. The sound – growing slightly louder the further she went – apparently originated from an apartment on the complex's right side (the same right when entering the floor). Such was confirmed once Maya stepped into the hallway; closer listening exposed Tito's apartment as the source. Nothing other than a musical sound filled the air, something which nobody else seemed to mind.

Maya pressed her ear up against the door. The 'music' sounded nothing like what one hears on a radio, record player, or otherwise but rather the clinking of various everyday objects alongside human limbs. And the girl had no idea how correct she was. Tito, his parents, and a visiting Elena had woken up just as early and now busied themselves with various amusements: Elena preferred a coffee table of course by the couch for klondike; the parents preferred Lexico at the dining room table; and Tito sat in one corner putting together a 510-piece puzzle. No one inside noticed the same as Maya: Various sound effects – placing down cards, puzzle pieces, and wooden letter tiles sometimes in sync and other times not; the adults' arms constantly tapping their chosen surfaces in concentration; Tito's feet contacting the floor; said boy at one point tossing some small pillow aside; Elena tapping a finger or two every ten seconds or so; even the occasional flinging of a game piece – all created an unintentional instrumental.

By now, the sounds reverberated throughout Maya's head that she all but forgot about the time change. She quickly snapped out of it, did her best to look natural, and knocked on the door. Everyone inside wasn't entirely startled, save for Tito's smile when he answered his cousin. "Hola, Tito. Hola, all." The smiling adults just looked her way waving hello; Tito's parents returned to their game whereas Elena gestured Maya to come in and join them. "Um, maybe another time. But thanks anyway." With the others acknowledging, the departing preteen walked down the hallway not minding the silence they shared with Paco. "Hmm," she muttered, "Games or music?"

Minutes passed since that strange occurrence before Miguel welcomed the new day as well. "Can't believe Maya let me sleep in this time," he commented, standing out of bed and stretching all limbs, "Even when we got an important school project on our hands. Criminy." Once freshened and dressed up, Miguel took a peek inside his sister's room but didn't find her and so proceeded to the dinner table. Not surprisingly, seeing Santiago and Rosa fix breakfast with Paco a short distance back showed that the boy had been the last one up. "Good morning, Papi. Mama. Paco." The three returned a smile and wave before resuming other current activity.

Miguel noticed his parents making more dishes than needed at breakfast and figured either their appetites must be immense today or a party planned for later. Or perhaps the presence of leftovers provided less work for lunch and/or dinner; no way could anyone here eat that much in one outing. And only seconds remained until déjà vu now came into play. Fiddling around with the silverware, Miguel figured he could use it to create funky shapes for inspiration. Of course, he also unwittingly participated in the day's second unofficial instrumental. Hot pans' sizzling grease intermingled with silverware tinkling, overshadowed by two whistling teakettles. The clanging of spatulas and pan covers and bubbling broth at some points added on.

The tinkling continued until Miguel stopped, realizing his head moving to the beat. That's when he began eyeing strangely the scene of his oblivious parents. Paco too noticed the ensemble but made his enjoyment more clear. Thumping feet replaced tinkling silverware and so picked up where it left off. Rosa and Santiago paused momentarily to meet their dumbstruck son eye to eye, giving a look that said, 'Something wrong?'. Miguel quickly snapped out of it. "Oh…don't mind me. I'm just concentrating." So they shrugged and returned to the job. The preteen did well hiding his perplexity while trying to think up a project idea. All dying sound effects gave way to the parents presenting a breakfast buffet at the table. "Yum. When's Maya joining us?" Santiago in response pointed to a paper taped on the refrigerator door which Miguel made out perfectly that said his sister already had breakfast and went for a walk.

Breakfast wasn't without Miguel's passing glances no one minded. The school project and answers behind the musical kitchen escapade lingered on his mind the entire session, but the meal went down easy. Miguel almost forgot about it up to dishwashing time. Clinking of dirty dishes; soap being squeezed from a bottle; and nothing more besides thumping feet revived the craziness the parents didn't notice. Was it weird or catchy? An indecisive Miguel's thoughts pointed towards following suit with Maya. He shook his head on the way to the bathroom, deciding too a stroll would alleviate the mind-busting chaos.

And the twins' friends agreed nothing did the job better than stretching one's legs. Various urban sounds together started off in bedlam as Chrissy passed building after building, unable to think up a project idea. The girl's chosen locale endured repairs and remodeling today according to warning signs, tapes, stalls, dug-up spots, construction workers, machinery, tools, and more. Chrissy thankfully received a permitted detour alongside many other passersby despite that she ignored much. Also, many businesses continued running during the commotion. "Would diagrams on trees do?" she muttered to herself, "No, that's been done. Perhaps tree samples with huge posters…same thing. Or a huge clay model of a tree…"

Musical rhythm commenced when Chrissy's back faced some candy store. Steam spurted from the nearest sidewalk flush cover with construction workers pouring sandy masses down clogged gutters, both at regular albeit slow intervals. And once Chrissy reached the crosswalk, during the wait, the grainy stuff became replaced by buckets full of water whose pouring created much sea-green foam. Sounds of hand shovels thrust into the torn-up ground; humming backhoes, front loaders, and cranes; honking horns; blown whistles; and the ever-present thumping feet mattered little to the girl at first. She just continued muttering off one possible idea after another.

But the noises soon overdrove her imagination. Each and every sight took turns using her dendrites as playthings. Others may have mistaken her muttering for silent babbling. Should Chrissy and her group talk about cars? Or did the history of whistles seem more appropriate? How about general construction or repair? What of elementary-level psychology behind rush hour? Then again, the subject of cars sounded straightforward enough. Although, Chrissy could've sworn general mineralogy boasted its interesting points too. Or was that characteristic of personal hygiene? Question after idea after question clogged her central nervous system greater than unidentifiable junk harming the gutters: car horns…steam…digging…machine humming…traction crackling from a front loader…whistling…footsteps…steam…foam…footsteps…humming…honking…beeping…crackling…whistling…a tap on the shoulder…

Chrissy snapped to reality at the last one, and the person responsible pointed out the arrived allowance to cross the street. She lingered a bit longer, her head turning back to study the scene behind which lost its musical rhythm for the moment, before shrugging and then joining the procession. Unlike the twins, Chrissy apparently dismissed the scene like nothing via returning to her original chosen subject. "Which tree, I wonder? Cherry? Pine? Zebrawood? And should it resemble someone or something?"

"Separated," Theo remarked, walking down a separate sidewalk, "Guess we all wanna think up something good. Other than that, I'm stumped. I just hope our ideas complement." Late morning saw him no less busy than the others, mystified (as he just stated) over the group's partition rather than odd rhythms replacing other people's voices. Yet, unlike the last three, Theo's mind felt nothing short of blank: He hadn't entertained even one small notion all day. "Darn writer's block…or is it 'artist'?" He stopped short at seeing two familiar faces walking opposite across the street. "Hey, Riviera! Hey, Valerie!"

Indeed, the same 12-year olds whose families the group previously rescued from illegal activity returned the greeting via a friendly wave. If Theo especially felt thankful about anything, it was that the cruel minds behind it – Brock, Rolanda, and their families and associates – hadn't done a lot since. Served them right. Dispelling past memories, Theo continued forth until he stopped short at the sight of the community center dead ahead. Running preceded a second stop to study dim shadows in the windows. Whoever stood inside appeared quite busy according to how he or she kept moving in and out of the building's various rooms and halls. Curiosity overtook Theo as he decided he must have a look. Besides, the community center always offered something interesting if not exciting.

Surprise presented itself in the form of Fabian – the same guy who directed the 'Doubtful Prince' play along with his version of the commercial for the Santos' pet store – jogging between two rooms once Theo surpassed the entrance. One moment the director entered the left room (an office) where what sounded like someone being buried underneath contents of a messy closet took place. Next moment Fabian rushed into the right room (a.k.a the auditorium) no doubt rearranging chairs. Theo confirmed both guesses via peeks into each area. The office's only desk held what appeared to be an amalgam of carburetor pieces assembled by thin wiring and glue with a junk pile on the room's far right whereas the auditorium had its chairs rearranged time and time again.

It became clear that Fabian, ignoring Theo, took an interest to sculpture without notice and used the auditorium chairs as a colorful means for sketching. Quick multitasking created a fourth instrumental the preteen actually enjoyed while skimming the main hallway; his head bobbed to the seat scooting, material rummaging, and pit-a-pat steps, the first two of which exhibited similar patterns. Six times did this sequence proceed with Fabian stopping at the midpoint for sculpture assembly and Theo stopping to watch. Come the seventh, however, the latter quit head-bobbing to meet the former's confused gaze. "Sorry, sir," Theo spoke with a smile and giggling, "Don't mind me." Fabian's bewilderment didn't falter even when the young visitor disappeared.

"What to do for a project," Maggie wondered, "If I were crazy, I'd miss having detention. That one week sure gave me all the time and inspiration I could cram into a mattress." This girl's locale of choice happened to be yet another neighborhood: more natural landscaping; condominiums mixed with the occasional common houses; and no other visible souls. Maggie figured the neighbors were either absent or blasé, for no one even felt interested in jumping on a trampoline. Still, she had to admire the wonderful renovations and otherwise designs. Brick, wooden, sky-blue, light-yellow, two-story, one-story, and adobe homes composed the 'hood. Some stood low whereas others lay upon short hills of varying heights. A few hilltops exhibited dugout concrete steps and walkways. Lush trees foreshadowed nearly all properties. Either the whole shebang or a fraction would make a fine project, so Maggie surmised.

That's when the distant tallest two buildings in that area caught her attention. Maggie approached the opposite sidewalk before continuing forward in order to obtain a good view. Two straightforward apartment buildings higher than any neighboring condominium or mansion (at least five stories) almost took her breath away. She rather admired the balance such contrast implemented. Meager vegetation blanketing the walls gave the impression of a patchwork quilt. Crossing over a second time, Maggie took an interest to the alleyway which looked much cleaner than any other she'd previously seen. That, combined with the new wires and ropes crisscrossing overhead, made a rather nice touch. Clean trashcans, dumpsters, folding lawn chairs, and potted plants also defied the eeriness of everybody's apparent absence.

Wouldn't she know it, Maggie discovered a mother gyrfalcon with two slightly mature babies peering towards her from the left building's top (no telling where the nest lay). The human girl felt fond at the very sight though also apprehensive about bothering them unintentionally. A male gyrfalcon, maybe the father, stood upon the right building. All birds shared the same curiosity over Maggie which she displayed of them. One baby's chirp preceded that of the next one, followed by a squawk from the adult female bird and then the male: a fifth musical sequence. The second round saw Maggie join in via snapping her fingers, further stimulating the avians' intrigue; the babies especially appeared to cheer her on. "You like it?" she asked. Straightforward chirping and squawking provoked a smile. "I'll take that as a yes."

So the sequence continued. Maggie couldn't count up how many times the participants carried it through; what started slow picked up speed until her fingers were played out. But the falcons let their joy shine up to a point where an opening window interrupted the song. The birds retreated toward their respective roofs' middle areas whereas Maggie hid behind a dumpster. The responsible culprit stuck their head out, looked high and low, shrugged, returned inside, and closed the window. All around the outside left hiding to exchange stares again. A thoughtful expression appeared on Maggie's face as she crossed her arms. From what she'd learned in her classes, birds like the gyrfalcon weren't always this welcoming toward strangers. And if not a project, the human girl would find a suitable opportunity to share this experience with others. The birds continued staring even upon her departure while receiving a farewell wave.

Lunchtime at Señor Obregón's Bodega was Andy's turn. Said owner of the bodega had something special inside today: a stall holding little boxes of fried broccoli. There existed mild bunches, some extra greasy, and the rest even burnt. Paying for a medium box (along with a bottle of milk and some complimentary napkins), Andy fancied the burnt kind. Also, it turns out somebody conveniently left a chair outside next to one of the produce stalls. The boy made do with available resources and had lunch on that chair.

Still more sound effects introduced the day's sixth and possibly final song. Rattling wheels of mini carts inside accompanied rolling across the building's inner floor. The cash register naturally went 'KA-CHING!, KA-CHING!' for every purchase made. A separate tempo came forth in the form of every object taken off whatever shelf and then replaced. And furthermore, the sound of thumping feet absent from the previous incident returned. Unlike his friends, however, Andy apparently minded nothing besides his lunch. In fact, one would think he forgot they were given a project at all; only lunch mattered in the world right now to him. "Delicious," he noted, the box halfway empty, "Where does he come up with this stuff? Why don't restaurants and fast-food joints add this to their menus?" The first swig from Andy's milk preceded yet another broccoli piece disappearing into his jowls.

Needless to say, the music persisted both ways. The same interior sound effects gained several temporary exterior supplements each going the opposite direction from the last: an automobile jiggling like gelatin; a person pushing a cart upon which many knick-knacks – two clinking together peculiarly – hung; a street cleaner vehicle whose brushes moved at unsynchronized paces, something the driver didn't mind; all followed by simple passersby. First one, then two, and then groups of differing sizes filled the sidewalk at different intervals. Age-old (by now) thumping feet dominated over everything else. Anything might've answered Andy's tranquility. Maybe it drove him crazy down inside? Did he put on a front? Had the excitement made him lost in thought? Was this a special relaxation practice? No one knew for sure.

Why, the noises also began a euphoric effect in his optics. As if struck by synesthesia, the boy saw unique motions dominating the scene: transparent fuchsia blanketing the scene; blinking spheres of white and yellow; and flying red boxes. The effect lasted an entire minute before it died with the fading crowd, receiving nothing greater than a thoughtful expression. It became clear by now that Andy and his friends were the only talking individuals today. Distraction created surprise at the sight of an empty box, as he'd reached his last broccoli stalk seconds ago. Aside from finishing the milk, only tossing used items back inside remained. With the persisting interior 'music', while heading off after doing what he needed do, Andy's next words hinted a contradiction to his supposed tranquility. "Sweet party."

An exhausted Maya ended her stroll in front of her family's pet store come late afternoon. "Ten miles…around town," she puffed, "And not a single…good…idea…except maybe…a game." Pressing on saw the girl bump into her brother. "Oh. Miguel. Fancy meeting you."

"Same here. I almost forgot about the project this morning. Find any good ideas?"

"Around town, no. In our apartment complex, yes. The idea of board games and puzzles won't leave my mind."

"Go figure. Me, I can't escape the notion of using silverware for doodling."

"Hope the others had more progress. Let's find 'em." The twins needn't stroll further than three steps before Maggie approached them.

"Hey, Maya. Miguel. Any ideas?"

"Nothing much," Miguel answered, "That's one down, three to go."

"Think again," an approaching Andy proclaimed, "Two down, two to go."

"Did you find inspiration?" Maya asked.

"A person who sees flashing lights," was the reply, "Namely, me."

"Someone forget to invite me?" Chrissy spoke, "Oh, you are all in for a surprise!"

"How come?" Maggie asked.

"I walked around construction workers and got lots of ideas: shovels, gutters, foam, cars, construction equipment, and more."

"Sounds like you hit the jackpot," Miguel noted, "Still, we can't do a thing without Theo."

"Here I am," Theo announced, completing the group.

To add on to the day's silliness, the six preteens dominated the sidewalk pacing back and forth all in sync (with the occasional pauses to let others pass along). "You won't believe what I noticed today," Maggie resumed, "This quiet neighborhood I visited has some of the loveliest homes I've ever seen. Ooh, but the best part was these birds I saw on two lone apartment buildings standing above the rest. They actually made friends with me!"

"Awesome," Theo said, "I met this Fabian guy at the community center putting together some sculpture out of spare parts and using chairs for planning. Maybe we could build carburetor sculptures."

"Oh, you must hear my ideas!" Chrissy insisted, "Construction workers are busy fixing up roads and such where **I** went. My mind was on trees, but the steam from underneath the ground and the foam to clear dirty gutters spun the wheels inside my head. Can you imagine what we could do with all this? We might be able to build a model play set…a pretty large one."

"You three are so fortunate," Maya said, "I like the idea of a board game or a puzzle. But my inspiration's dry for the first, and I can't decide what image to use for the second and how many pieces."

"Mine might be expansive depending on one's view," Miguel noted, "I thought of making silverware doodles; we could make collages out of old flat objects, not necessarily utensils."

"Flashing lights, I tell ya," Andy chimed, "My idea goes three ways: illusion, game, or art. Or a light show with dancing beasts, geometric patterns, or whatever. It won't leave me."

Theo smelled the air at that. "Andy, no offense, but your breath smells green and greasy…with a bit of dairy. Whadja have for lunch, fried broccoli and milk?"

"You're good," Andy replied, "Señor Obregón gave out fried broccoli today. Yummy."

"Back to the original subject," Miguel reminded, "The teachers are counting on group efforts."

"I know what to do!" Chrissy suggested, "When in doubt, combine. Picture this: Two construction workers both mixed between a bird and a tree digging up a long-buried gutter pipe filled with sand that gets foamy when they pour on water. They want to add this pipe to their lovely puzzle home covered in silverware and a carburetor sculpture on the front porch but can't go further because flashing lights distract them too much. Sound good?"

All stopped once she finished. "That is pretty creative," Maggie admitted, "But I doubt combining our ideas will work. We're not dealing with a comic book this time around."

"Not the first time I especially will be stuck for ideas," Maya put in, "And definitely not the last."

Miguel thought for a moment. "Okay, so I got a secret to tell. Mama and Papi fixed more breakfast than our three stomachs would allow this morning without saying why. But the weirdest part is that the sizzling pans, pots, and dishwashing sounded like a song." The others jolted because the sensation felt all too familiar.

"No way," Maggie said, "I did the same with those birds. They chirped and squawked while **I** snapped."

"I got some chuckles out of bouncing my head to Fabian's movements," Theo recalled, chuckling again at the thought.

"Me too," Chrissy added, "The city was alive with music, music, and more music. Did I mention the steam?"

"Sure did," Andy spoke, "The bodega and these passersby got musical without trying. Remember the flashing lights I mentioned? I practically slept with my eyes open."

"Uncle, Auntie, Abuelita, and Tito put on a show too," Maya remarked, "Are you all…?"

The sextet's arms drooped as they stared ahead, eyes widened at inspiration. Maya's influence spread amongst the ranks in wake of her glowing baubles and signature sequence. "Eso es!" the group chorused.

A jolt preceded eyeing one another strangely, giving way to playfulness. "Why, I feel flattered," Maya said.

"Never saw that coming," Miguel admitted.

"Then we all know where it's going," Chrissy decided, "Let us do a musical performance."

"I might have something we can use for sticks," Theo chimed.

"And I can find some metal plates," Maggie offered, "It'll be dirty work, but I'll improvise."

"Wonderful," Andy concluded, "Let's get planning as far as need be right now. Then we'll meet back here tomorrow."

"Alright!" the group cheered before heading into the twins' abode.

Nothing much aside from continued planning, the gathering of assorted knick-knacks and pieces, and sterilizing those items occurred on Sunday. Little else other than class attendance and finishing touches to blueprints outlined school hours on Monday. Come after-school hours, however, the sextet was more than ready to get constructive. Collected spoils lay in a mound on the lawn beside the apartment complex/pet store. The real work began by tying some ropes together for half the project's framework. "Due this coming Wednesday, no less," Miguel commented, "Why do you think they chose such an early date?"

"Must be practice for high school," Theo guessed, "I hear the seniors gotta turn in their senior projects almost the same time."

"People around town are getting nicer all the time," Chrissy noted, "We never would have gathered so many things if they didn't pitch in."

"Very true," Maya agreed.

"Percussion," Maggie put in, "The simplest form of music. Anybody can learn it."

"True again," Andy repeated, "Not to imply superiority, that is." The others nodded in agreement.

Miguel's efforts soon landed him in mayhem via a hand ensnared by accident. "Uh oh. The rope likes me too much."

Maya was not only the closest by but also the first to offer aid. "Don't worry. I'll get you out." Seconds within loosening the band around her brother's wrist, however, the girl halted at noticing her caught foot. "Oh, dear."

"I'll help," Maggie offered. Unfortunately, the rope played more tricks and got her skirt tangled within. "What? Lemme go, dumb rope!"

"Uh oh," the remaining three stated. Further aid led to a panicked scramble that sent the trapped group collapsing into a wild jumble. Cries of 'Hey, get me outta this dumb thing!' and 'Idiot lassos!' filled the air, and it wasn't long until each child could barely move, much less free themselves. On the plus side, at least they'd fallen on a soft grassy patch rather than their spoils or the walkway.

"Who saw this coming?" Chrissy wondered.

"Never mind," Maya dismissed, "Does anybody have a key?"

"Will a switchblade do?" Miguel inquired.

"You carry one around?" Maggie said.

"Don't I wish." The others just sighed. "Hey, don't give me those looks. I only said I wished for a switchblade to help, not that I did have one."

"Okay, okay," Andy resumed, "What next?"

"Every ropey mess has its weakness," Theo assured, "Where is it here?"

All eyes darted about aimlessly with sentiments to call out for help despite there being no one in sight for an immeasurable distance. Then those same pupils eyed one funky knot in particular. "Hmmm…" they concentrated. Having the closest chance, Theo needed pull it loose. Losing this one knot led to the freedom the kids desired. With her clique standing up again, Maya held the supposed rope framework in both hands which was now a big net. All looked surprised.

"So," she said, "Anybody wanna go fishing sometime?"

Little excitement happened on Tuesday as well until the school day let out. Having no doubt discarded the rope in favor of strong wiring, the group worked their hands away standing ever closer to completion. Each piece in their pile disappeared from the ground one by one; none were wasted. Within two hour, the young contractors stood vigil over some lotus-like amalgam boasting a cattail shape in the middle and six parabolic protuberances each terminating in an old metal lid, a panel, or carefully arranged bars. "Who rules?" Maggie bragged.

"We do," Miguel answered.

"If this don't impress them – and don't mind my improper grammar – then I'll eat nothing except apples for an entire week," Andy added.

Maya noticed a protuberance shifting out of position. "Oop. We got us a cocky one."

But within her repairing attempts, the others noticed the same happening around the whole thing. "Oh, please," Theo complained. Pretty soon, all their efforts heralded a collapse in the entire amalgam. "Here we go again."

Another two hours of work saw sunset overshadow the scene. This time, the kids pulled out all the stops just wanting to complete the irritating project. Such explained lowered cheeriness once they finished a second time. Durability now mattered far more than creativity: The amalgam had become a rectangular box akin to a playground jungle gym with everything else strewn about. "It is not our best, but it should do the job," Chrissy stated, "How long, though?"

"I got another question," Miguel put in, "How're we gonna carry it?"

"Let's see," Theo surmised, "There are six of us here…four legs upon which it stands…two members left over…"

And just when they thought their project could withstand everything, it still fell apart a second time despite the lack of applied force. Such must've short-circuited the kids' brains according to their shocked expressions, but only for two seconds. "Mmmmm!" they cried, fists clenched and arms shaking with the rest of their angry bodies.

"This…is…dumb," Maggie complained, "We'll flunk for sure."

"Oh, no, we won't," Maya stated, a dangerous look in her eye, "I hope that one couple is still available tonight…"

A nerve-wracking Wednesday morning gave way to the big afternoon. 5th-grade group projects dotted the playground, save for the one sextet. Their parents and relatives had already arrived and passed time skimming other students' work. One spot served multiple groups taking turns at demonstrations with a small crowd applauding nearby. Nevertheless, the absent procession's kin as well as school faculty grew increasingly anxious. Where were they?

Some covered mass progressing up the sidewalk was strange to behold unless one also took into consideration the kids below pulling and pushing it. The Santos twins and company understood their lateness but dared not rush should their project fall apart a third time. "I hope the teachers approve, 'cause I ain't doing this again for a long while no matter what," Theo said.

"They better," Chrissy said, "We didn't spend all those hours listening to funny sounds, making a temporary collection outta strange junk, wasting too many papers planning it out, tying ourselves up, and playing contractor just to sink like cement."

"Cheer up, friends," Maya encouraged, "Imagine the immense music we'll return to those who helped inspire us."

Nobody else spoke a word as this final group made their way to the spot of multiple demonstrations, and nobody felt any need to berate. Pulling off the cover unveiled the same rectangular arrangement they'd constructed before, though modified: Four old metalworking carts long since welded together composed the base and part of the framework, with the previous attempt strewn on neatly yet messily. The sextet took small bows at slight clapping before Andy started them off. "Hi, all. Sorry we're late, the thing's pretty fragile. And it makes a better surprise this way, too. Our project focuses on the wonderful subject of music, namely percussion."

"There are four types of musical instruments," Maggie supplemented, "We got the strings, which are, well, anything with strings that you run this stick called a bow across that has its own string. Next comes woodwind, the long rods you blow into that were originally made of wood but now come in plastic."

"And then there's brass, the other kind you blow into made of brass, a mixture of copper and zinc," Theo continued, "Last is percussion: simply put, anything you strike with your limbs or some stick."

"In our minds, percussion is the easiest form to learn," Chrissy put in, "It's so simple, just about everyone can learn it."

"But truthfully, originality is disappearing fast," Miguel spoke, "We obviously didn't come up with this ourselves. You might say experiences last weekend inspired it, and we'd like to thank those who helped, some of which are here right now." Group and audience clapped.

"Okay, then," Maya decided, "We never thought up a name for this number, so don't bother asking. Only your satisfaction matters." The six took up their positions around their project: Maggie in the far back with Andy directly across up front; Maya on the back left corner with Miguel at the right; and Chrissy on the front right corner with Theo taking up the left.

The demonstration began with the children slowly striking the objects of their chosen position once, followed by them moving counterclockwise into each other's positions and doing the same thing again twice. They next sped up for another two rotations striking whatever lay in reach until back in their original positions; then came the real action. Synchronization was out of the question as each child followed his or her own rhythm. Five seconds into this, the small audience and then eventually everybody on the playground found themselves grooving to the clumsy beat. (With such fine music, nobody felt like being a stickler.)

Come the midpoint, groans complemented the project's third collapse; some barely suppressed giggles. But the sextet – rather than wallow in self-pity – smiled; giggled themselves, relieving others in the process; shrugged; and continued on just by striking the carts and mess. Mrs. Langley and Mr. Nguyen especially admired their shared students' persistence at something this difficult. The performance ended by repeating the beginning slow motion and rotation before the group lined up together to bow and receive playground-wide applause.

Those same six children were amongst the last ones to clean up and leave. Said former actually didn't take as long as they guessed. The previous collapse had been limited mainly to the carts' flat surfaces; only around maybe five or six pieces littered the ground. "I never felt this good since my last trip to the amusement park," Theo declared, "We must've rivaled…whomever today. I can't think of anyone right now."

"I cannot lie," Miguel admitted, "I enjoyed myself too. Maybe we can do something like this again when we're in high school."

"Perhaps," Chrissy said, "But no matter how many years – one or four – it's still too far away for me to think about."

The group began pulling the cart away only to turn back and find Maggie not helping out. She stood in one spot, rumbling. "Hey, Maggie," Maya called, "What's the deal?"

"I…I…still got the…music inside me," was the stuttering response.

"Oh, no," Andy started, suddenly as shaky, "It's spreading. Who's up for an encore?" Rather than speak, the feeling reached them all and inspired just that. Keeping track of the minutes didn't matter; the kids, practically abusing their already destroyed project, needed to groove.

The End


	3. Xenial Hearts Unite

Note: I couldn't say this time where the story takes place, but most likely by series' end. In my opinion, Miguel's Wonderful Life was one of the worst episodes to date because it ripped on the poor boy by making him look like the weaker half. Special thanks to Three Wooden Crosses for the aid.

5th grade was long gone, and only three weeks remained in summer vacation. Maya Santos greeted the newborn day with a smile as always. "Today's the day!" she declared, prompting Paco's energy.

"Awwk! Celebración tiempo! Community Founder's Day comes once!"

"You said it. And we only have until 1:00 PM tomorrow to fix things up. Miguel!" Maya once more proceeded to her slumbering brother's room for yet another sudden awakening. "C'mon, Miguelito, debemos preparar."

"Mmmm…do we…do we…?"

Paco removed the covers so Maya could do the rest. "Founder's Day is due within several more hours. Preparations need this much time."

"Es así?"

"Uh huh."

"Then I guess there's no stopping." So Maya needed not struggle further to get Miguel out of bed, which seemed a nice enough surprise.

And once more, Maya talked the most over breakfast, namely over the upcoming party. Santiago and Rosa listened with the utmost interest. Miguel couldn't voice his sentiments (much less rest) since his sister put him in charge of drawing the plans; that pencil-clutching hand moved about to the hyperactive girl's directions and words. "Plus, we can't forget a band overlooking the entire room. Papi, do you wanna play anything?"

"Provided I can find my place amongst the other singers."

"I'm sure you will," Rosa guaranteed, "Better get that ukelele tuned up at the nearest music shop or other first. Ha sido un tiempo."

"I wonder…?" Maya continued. Her lit-up baubles inspired nothing more than a flinch from Miguel who worked on nonetheless. "Eso es!"

"Y ahora?" Santiago asked.

"I thought there'd be just one group of musicians putting on a show, but I realize multiple performers can take turns. First comes Papi and whomever, unless he wants to act alone; then Miguel bands again with Theo and Andy; then Maggie goes solo; then Chrissy and I join up with her…" Maya took a quick breath. "I'll need to write this out."

"Seguramente usted pensó en todo lo," Rosa admitted, "And in comparatively minute time, too."

"I can't believe the community council chose us to oversee the party," Santiago recalled, "La tradición y la excelente tipo."

"Our reputation must precede us," Maya shrugged.

"You mean your reputation precedes you," Miguel muttered.

"Qué es eso?" Paco spoke, "He oído algo."

"Same here," Rosa agreed, "Miguel, what'd you say?"

The boy calmly changed the subject. "Maya, you better hope nothing goes wrong this time. No suciedad por una vez."

Maya chuckled. "Don't be gloomy, Miguelito."

So began the necessary preparations. Rosa, Santiago, Elena, and Tito's parents traversed their neighborhood and beyond passing out photocopied flyers drawn by none other than Miguel to encourage volunteers for the show and more. The boy in question and Tito erected advertising posters. Maya oversaw community center activity, handled inventory, and - along with Andy and Maggie - pitched in with general preparation efforts. She before long caught an argument between Theo and Chrissy. "Pinstripes," the former stated.

"Checks."

"Pinstripes."

"Checks."

"Pinstripes."

"Checks."

"I say pinstripes are the way to go." Theo withdrew a pinstripe curtain from a nearby box. "See? Sleek and organized."

Chrissy followed suit with a checkered curtain. "But look at this. The party needs a feeling of firmness and excitement. Checks."

"What's the problem, you two?"

"We can't decide what curtains belong around the scene for this occasion," Chrissy explained, "I want checks."

"And I want pinstripes."

Maya just shook her head. "I see you decorators still haven't learned." As Theo and Chrissy watched, Maya withdrew and handed them a plaid curtain from a third box. "There you go, friends. Plaid curtains are the way to go. Sleek, firm, organized, and exciting."

"Oooooh," the pair chorused, exchanging a knowing glance, "Plaid."

Watching them install the curtains filled Maya's heart; who wouldn't enjoy seeing cooperation in action? Maggie's voice disturbed her thoughts. "Maya?"

"Huh? Yes, Maggie?"

"Where did you say Fabian's carburetor sculpture should go? A block or so away or right by the main entrance?"

"By the main entrance. Makes for the sculpture's higher security." A nodding Maggie walked off in the wake of Andy's arrival.

"Hey, Maya. Are we using a red carpet for the entrance?"

"The party's not that formal. Anything just a tad modest available?"

"One other, with imprinted animal footsteps."

"Use that." Andy's departure heralded the arrival of Miguel and Tito. "Hola, boys. You look extremely tired."

"Not me!" Tito declared, "Puedo hacer todo esto y mucho más. But Miguel…"

"It's nothing, really," Miguel picked up.

Maya accepted her brother's load. "You've worked your hardest all day, Miguel. Tomar un descanso. I needed to move a little more anyhow."

Miguel took up her offer. Once they were far enough away from him, Tito's news hinted something must be awry with the older boy. "Maya, I'm worried for Miguel. Comer un mal desayuno?"

"No, breakfast was good."

"I know he can do more a lot longer than that. What, does he think your plans will fail? Doesn't Miguel understand by now?"

"Eh, he's just Miguel. I might overdo it, but we always pull through in the end. It's not like the world's better off without me."

"Yeah. If not for you, I would've left this place sooner."

"Si. Let's continue work." Maya's thoughts returned to last Christmas when Miguel made that startling wish for a world where she didn't exist. Then it struck her: Was there some connection? She and their friends noted Miguel's sullen face the Friday prior to their makeshift percussion exposition which he claimed stemmed from a certain past bullfight. Ever since then, Maya caught that very expression whenever Miguel least suspected anyone's snooping. Did guilt of his wish yet linger? If so, why? Didn't the twins make up? But Maya shook it off, feeling confident tomorrow's celebration would fix all.

Said celebration ran smoothly during the first four hours. Guests piled in by the tens, hence the necessity for extra rooms and attractions. No show began until halfway into the fourth hour. Maggie went first via her peacock dance. The following act by Santiago with a random neighbor was especially witnessed by some unknown couple in the audience. Anyone else only felt happy giving said couple space to themselves, not even suspecting a shared video communicator withdrawn from the woman's purse. One button press placed veiled yet familiar figures amongst nearby brush onscreen. "We're in," the man muttered, "The party's almost into its fifth hour, but no mess."

"What of the twins?" one of the figures, apparently male, inquired.

"The girl's waiting for her turn to perform, ever so cheerful," the woman continued, "Her brother seems to be expecting a disaster."

"Remember," the other figure, female, reminded, "No sabotage. We must let things play out themselves. Keep us updated." And the link was severed.

Just blocks away, the figures remained hidden far enough from their targets yet close enough for easy communication. No one was out to mind them, much less stop whatever nefarious scheme they planned. But the following tête-à-tête indicated they somehow knew the twins and company. Deep voices disguised possible recognition. "It's a good thing we had a few spies left over to relay information and then bail us," the male commented, "I knew 'quit' wasn't in her vocabulary, but this totally stretches the money."

"Tell me about it. Backstabbing under a charming face. How anyone puts up with that persistent little cretin is beyond me."

"Yeah. It's like she always insists on being correct. Well, after tonight, let's see if she still thinks she can solve all the world's problems."

The next act onstage required immense equipment usage at least according to elementary school standards. Miguel, Theo, and Andy - waiting behind stage curtains for their turn next - counted ten speakers amongst a sea of around twenty-three cords. "Hello, folks," the main band member announced, "This is a number we dubbed 'West By The Mountain'. Hit it!"

A light synthesizer sonata preceded the expected loud intermezzo. Those closest, namely Miguel's clique and anyone who sat up front, jolted at the shock. But such excitement isn't what bothered Miguel. Seconds into the performance, he noticed a frayed cord whereas even his pals didn't and thereby disrupted the performance. "Stop! Detener la música! Stop, I say!"

"What's the problem, kiddo?" another member asked.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to ruin everyone's fun. Believe me, that's the last thing I wanted tonight." As Miguel spoke, an annoyed Maya neared him. "But you see, I noticed a problem with…" He got no further before interruption.

"Miguel, what're you doing?" Maya interrogated, "I don't understand…"

Again, only he noted the danger: Maya's foot nearing the frayed cord. "Maya, watch out…oop!" Miguel tripped over another cord with such force to knock over a speaker as well as make his unknowing sister leap out of harm's way. The speaker's fall shocked the lead member into sprawling upon his bandmates, sending a projectile from one's wrecked drumset flying across the room. This projectile in turn broke a few dishes, sent papers and decorations sailing, and made half the room attempt stopping it.

"I got it!" one attendee spoke, "No, wait, don't got it."

"C'mere, you!" another demanded.

"My way!" But these constant efforts instead spilled foodstuffs and beverages, knocked furniture over, and created an overall din.

However, once firmly positioned somewhere offstage, Miguel's keen eye let his fingers catch the projectile; a rogue nut. "Everyone alright?"

Maya reached him first. "No thanks to you…" Then she spat out, "Miguelito." This is when he acknowledged the surrounding glares and mess, but a nervous smile wouldn't save him now.

"Sorry about the mess."

"And you say I make things go wrong?" Maya continued.

"Miguel, it's true your sister has gone overboard in the past, but this is no way to prove a point," Rosa lectured, "We could've easily let you stay home if you didn't feel like attending the party. Todo lo que tenía que hacer era preguntar."

"Y admitir que i. But you see, the band…"

"…was doing just fine until you ruined them," Theo interrupted.

"Nice going," a random face shot.

Santiago pointed to the exit. "Young man, usted va esperar fuera del edificio hasta que se termine la limpieza de los. You've done enough." Surrounding glares made Miguel feel two inches tall, and minutes must've passed during his departure before cleanup commenced. Despite finally noticing the frayed cord, the band assumed it must've become so due to a speaker falling on it and the resulting applied pressure: It looked like someone cut out a shape of tube pasta from the rubber. The strange couple exchanged a knowing nod.

The previous night's sentiments lingered amongst the community. Miguel bore everyone's glares and silent treatment, the latter perhaps punishment enough if the parents didn't ground him. But he remained inside his bedroom most of today anyhow. Even drawing was out of the question.

Constant thoughts of Maya's importance swarmed Miguel's head. No way would life itself fare better without her. She provided all the best ideas to improve their community. Tito would've become so cowardly acting onstage much less living here if not for her efforts. Maya made Theo, Andy, Jimmy, Mr. Nguyen, Elena, and others feel appreciated. In short, she thought of it all. So where did Miguel fit in? Or did he not? A possibility struck him near evening. "I was wrong," he mumbled, "I'm the one who shouldn't exist, not Maya." Voices in the living room then caught his interest.

Elena, Maya, Santiago, Rosa, and Paco sat patiently hearing out some program's description courtesy of the suspicious man from the night before. Brochures filled his hands, and a book bag stood by his right ankle. "That's right," he continued, "Just imagine going new places, learning new skills, and more. We're always searching for potential exchange students."

"And how much does it cost?" Santiago inquired.

"Prices vary, but our program assures you pay nothing. We acquire money through charities." He eyed Maya. "You look like quite a talented youngster. Wanna give it a go? Huh?"

"Thanks anyway, but I'm still needed here," was the answer.

"No problem. Do you have any other kids?"

"Right here," came the entering Miguel.

"Awwp," Paco squawked, "Parte destructor."

"Cut it out, Paco." Miguel faced the man. "Where do I sign?"

Out from the man's bag came a paper, clipboard, and pen. "The usual space." He pointed to the bottom edge.

"And how long will this be?" Elena asked.

"Roughly four years. Don't worry, this boy will come back just in time for high school. I heard around the neighborhood that you're both 5th-graders."

"Si," Miguel confirmed as the man returned the items, "So I'm going to a new land, huh? What time will you come pick me up?"

"5 AM sharp tomorrow. See ya then!" And the man left.

At least the parents weren't upset enough to starve their son. Come dinnertime (all five plus Tito), the news didn't entirely up Miguel's spirits although he looked more so than everyone else there. The world must've died for all the others knew. "Cuatro años?" Tito gasped, "You mean it, Miguel?"

"Unbelievably," Miguel answered, "I'm leaving early tomorrow at 5 AM."

"Caramba. That sounds early."

The parents and Elena seemed no less anxious than Paco and the kids but must disguise it. "In any case, I hope it'll teach you true responsibility and encourage you to let loose," Rosa said. Miguel just nodded.

Maya was the most silent whereas Paco hummed. Near bedtime, Miguel didn't mind his sister watching him pack or for that matter the uncertainty written all over her face. She began bedtime staring at her room's ceiling contemplating the revelation. Who cared whether or not he ruined the party, right? Even if the man said Miguel would return one day, Maya still felt her world taking an unpleasant turn. A four-year absence was too much for those their ages.

Miguel was long gone before the news caught on, much less anyone seeing him off. Others felt the same mixture of relief and uncertainty with requests coming alive for a new party to compensate the previous catastrophe. Maya's latest ideas were well under way by the time it all commenced. Her latest suggestion in arrangement of furniture and decorations resembled something out of a crossword puzzle book. Tables and chairs had been huddled together as intersecting arrays in which guests could spell out words using giant cutout letters. Streamers dotted the ceiling. However, the layout was so sloppy that it crashed down less than an hour into the party; much shorter than the first. "Guess the party's over," a guest commented.

"Se darn!" Maya complained, "Why didn't anyone tell me it wouldn't work?"

"Well, it seemed good," Maggie said.

That disaster was due in part because Maya's idea got approved without decent planning, so the council enforced such as mandatory. This in turn postponed the official party until then. Maya spent the next five days with her parents, relatives, friends, and some neighbors pushing her imagination to its limits. Resulting mood swings saw the group effort shrink after the first two days. Day 3 repelled parents and abuela, all of whom became overly strict. Only Maya herself, Tito, Theo, Maggie, Andy, and Chrissy remained by the sixth morning working out a labyrinth arrangement. "Okay," Maya began, "I think I got it now."

"Would that be before or after you go loco?" Chrissy wondered. Recent developments had never been less kind on their young souls. Maya was such a wreck that few could barely approach her anymore. In turn, Chrissy and Maggie now bore the problem of clinging opposite the arguing Miguel's dream recalled: They dared not leave each other's side outside of home once. Andy and Theo looked more or less the same. Tito had become nothing short of a troublemaker in contrast to how his female cousin merely implied it.

Maya chuckled at her friend's comment, the next words hinting an already bypassed breaking point. "Don't worry, people. We just need to get through what could very well be the final situation with a consolation party. Drawings?" All held up prototypes for new advertisements, which didn't seem suitable for the job. "Aye-yi-yi. Estos dibujos fétidas. Theo, too much blue."

"Well, it's certainly better than some curtain resembling a cloud of nematodes," Theo retorted, "Maybe if you rearrange the lights and darks so they better bring out the monochrome qualities, I'm sure the results…"

Alas, Maya couldn't take the boy's gab. "Oh, nada de trabajo de aquí! Why can't I do anything right?" She kicked an aluminum plate that ricocheted about the room, reminiscent of the nut Miguel caught. But no one currently present possessed the required quick reflexes to do more than dodging and whatnot. The plate continued causing them trouble before stopping at a table's leg. "Where are all my good ideas?"

"Dulce, Maya!" Tito cheered, "Did you see how fast it flew? Again!"

And right then, all except the youngest dropped their drawings as a sign that they desired throwing in the towel. "What're you all doing?" Maya queried, "It's not time to quit, I no puede hacer esto sin su ayuda."

"Sorry, Maya," Andy apologized, "But we can't keep this up anymore."

"You've really changed," Maggie concluded.

"Wait!" Maya begged, "I'll try harder! Surely my next idea won't lead us astray!" But the four's departure heralded her parents' arrival.

"Goody!" Tito declared, "Diversión familiar! We make wild sights!"

"'We' are doing no more, Tito," Santiago disagreed.

"Mama. Papi. You can still help since you're back."

"Nomas, Maya," Rosa reported, "We're no longer in charge of the party. The council gave their thanks and will find someone else. Nomas big ideas from you until further notice. Usted ha hecho lo suficiente."

"But…but…"

"Sin argumentos," Santiago instructed, and so Maya complied.

The girl couldn't wait to leave the storm brewing inside her apartment building. "Maya's wild!" Paco called out, "Awwk! Lío maker!"

"Stop it, Paco!" Maya returned.

"Mess maker! Awwp!"

An afternoon walk may as well have her sympathize with Miguel albeit due to wary rather than angry looks thrown her way. Maya's feet led her towards the bodega. "No es una bonita imagen. Tito's turned into an overconfident brat, Mama and Papi are complete stiffs now, and the others have become cowards. Miguel really knew how to keep me from getting in over my head and bail me out. Plus, he always inspired some of my best ideas. But for Pete's sake, why would he do such a thing? What was his motive?" Maya leaned against the bodega's side. "Si sólo sabía i." Just then, her eyes met a familiar piece of electrical equipment inches in the nearest alleyway. A curious Maya walked over to pick it up for study. "This is what that band used last week. I wonder what it's still doing here? …Hm?" Her eyes widened when meeting the frayed cord. "Oh, my word. Hope Theo's up for an apology and a mystery."

Somewhere far west, the city stood in the path of a semi-truck loaded with frozen produce. Nestled between a married couple whose lives belonged to the road was none other than Miguel, the foreign exchange program apparently canceled. A row of three empty seats stood behind those filled. "I really wish it didn't turn out this way," Miguel recalled, "Would've felt nice being appreciated."

"Aw, they must appreciate you at home," the husband refuted.

"Uh uh. You already know my story. Common sense doesn't register when amusement any given day of the year is at stake."

"Now you just keep your head high," the wife instructed, "I refuse to believe you're the weaker half 'cause those days should be over."

"Yep," the husband agreed, "Think of it this way, kiddo: You appreciate your sister and the world around, maybe now vice versa will come." Before long, two faces Miguel recognized happened along the road's opposite side. "Well, well. Two more poor critters in need of a ride."

"Hold the cameras," Miguel realized, "Algo que no es derecho. What're Gus and Celia Lopez doing all the way out here?"

"You know 'em?" the wife wondered.

Theo was up for apology and mystery as Maya expected. "Cripes!" he declared, observing the frayed cord via magnifying glass, "This thing's been damaged since before the first party. It didn't get this way recently." He put aside the glass and handed Maya back the speaker. "Miguel…he…"

"He did the necessary thing," Maya picked up, "I made the mess. Had Miguel not acted, a fire would've hurt us all." The speaker went into Theo's bedroom trash bin so Maya could sulk. "What've I done?"

"You mean we." But the departing girl didn't hear him.

Evening felt its emptiest what with Maya just sitting around staring off into space. Santiago and Rosa hadn't finished the pet store's activity today yet (no telling what occupied Paco or anybody else). Nothing would change the fact that their daughter instigated Miguel's departure. Why, he may not even keep in touch. Four years: Oh, how it hurt. She simply wasn't ready for this sudden change yet. Being parked by the phone and the only tenant home, Maya needed pick it up on the first ring. "Hola?"

"Maya? It's me."

Hearing the respondent instantly perked her spirits. "Miguel?"

"That's right. The one and only."

"What're all those truck-like noises in the background?"

"I'm calling from a truck stop to say I'm on my way home."

"You mean they kicked you out?"

"Sort of. I'll explain everything once I return; around 10 AM tomorrow. I want you to gather everyone in front of the bodega, okay?"

"I'm on it, Miguelito!"

Maya followed these instructions well the next morning. So many familiar faces - Santiago, Rosa, Tito, Tito's parents, Elena, Theo, Chrissy, Andy, Maggie, Mr. Shue, Gus, Sr. Felipé, Celia, Mrs. Langsley, Mr. Nguyen, Sr. Obregón, and more - crowded the bodega's front step. Hearing news of Miguel's return made everyone their old selves again. "You sure he'll come here?" Andy inquired.

"My brother means as well as me. He'll show up. Oh." The arrival of a certain truck drew everybody's attention at Maya's voice. Out stepped Miguel, followed by the couple who placed taped-up new charges in the crowd's middle. The male twin's expression indicated hugs must wait.

"There you are, kiddo," the husband said, "Two for the price of one."

"Gracias," Miguel replied.

"We better be off now," the wife said, "Stay out of trouble."

As they departed, confusion spread amongst the crowd. "Gus?" Isoka said, "Celia? But you two are standing right next to me."

"Imposters," Miguel said, "The truck drivers and I found them walking down the road miles from town, so I figured something must be wrong. Didn't put up much of a fight, either. In fact, their faces seemed to stretch when we tried feeding them dinner last night and breakfast today."

"Disguises," Gus summed up, he and his niece meeting their doppelgangers' faces. The faux pair enacted as much a vain fight as possible being wrapped in duct tape while the real McCoys restrained them. Three tugs indeed stretched possible face masks, but tearing off those disguises plus the tape exposed two individuals no one had seen for a while. Said pair naturally wore their regular outfits underneath the whole time.

"Brock?" Chrissy gasped, "Rolanda?"

"The driver took me three and a half days' worth away from home and, after feeding me well, dumped me off at some abandoned road stop," Miguel explained, "I went for the fourth day's remainder without dinner and slept on some bench until I awoke inside those nice drivers' truck. The front middle seat, that is. They'd found me, heard my story, gave me a ride back, and helped capture these two lowlives." Moans and groans hovered about.

"What makes you think we're involved?" Brock asked.

"Simple: What would Celia and Gus be doing out walking on a lonely road anyway? I doubt they told anyone in my absence they'd go take a trip, and a car crash would've been reported. El camión tenía un radio de trabajo."

"That's right," Celia agreed, "And unless you brats start talking, we'll just stand here forever barricading your escape."

"What is this, house arrest?" Rolanda said.

"Close enough," Theo answered.

The bullies tried plowing their way through but gave up after five tries (two together). Not once did the crowd's robustness falter, hence an exasperated confession. "Fine," Rolanda admitted, "The tapeworm speaks the truth. However, we didn't sabotage the stupid band's speaker. It's their fault for not double-checking the equipment. Had we done so, we would've left crumbs."

"Don't tell us: vengeance," Mr. Shue stated.

"No duh, stupid!" Brock retorted, "You had it coming. Those dummies should've stayed out of our affairs when they had the chance."

"You started it," Tito shot back, "Your parents made a bad amusement park, you two kidnapped two others and made their siblings slaves…Por qué todo esto? Why did you have to be so mean? Why?"

Now something clicked inside the pair. No one in the crowd ever saw them smirk, much less be so fanatical. "Why?" Rolanda repeated, "Why? Because that's just who we are! What, you too hung up in Planet Sweet Tooth to understand someone can get hurt from coast to coast?"

"Yeah!" Brock added, "'Love makes the world go round! Things will get better if we all work together!' Oh, this. 'A little huggy-wuggy makes the world all safe and snuggly!' Well, wake up, people, 'cause the world don't work that way!"

"Life and the world are how you make them," Elena spoke, "The truth remains, you've no right taking your problems out on others."

"Did you get that from some lame show?" Rolanda retorted.

"Well, it's true," Rosa insisted.

"'Why do we gotta be mean,'" Brock paraphrased , "And you all call yourselves adults. That's just like you, hiding stuff from your own children while claiming to protect them. What a joke."

"We are protecting them," Santiago argued, "They'll learn when ready."

"Yeah, sure," Rolanda continued, "They're gonna find out anyway, why not just get it over with? That's what our parents taught."

"Excuses are for lamebrains," Greg said, "We pity you."

"Who said we needed it?" Brock replied, "This isn't some lame television show by a halfwit profit-free company to blind kids into thinking they can win every time, enemies are complete pussies, and a simple smile can fix everyone's problems in the blink of an eye! We just told you!"

The crowd would rather approach calmly than stoop to the pair's level. "Okay, maybe you're on to something," Maya began, "Let's pretend this is a television show. You're right for the most part. Who knows, maybe the basis behind our lives as a whole has been done before."

"Yeah," Miguel added, "For all we know, we could be ripping off other people's lives in another universe. Maybe we're not the best thing to watch on television. Not everyone's gonna enjoy it."

"No show will ever achieve universal perfection, and that's a hard lesson we must all face," Andy summarized.

"And there's a fine line between criticism and critique," Chrissy chimed.

"If others want, they can badmouth us as much as they wish," Maggie shrugged, "That's fine. To each their own."

"Yeah, we can't stop them from thinking that way," Theo said.

"I'll say we can't," Chrissy affirmed, "I know we've missed more details."

"C'mon," Andy encouraged, "We'll take it. We're not afraid."

"You already know of the 'ignorant' stuff," Maggie informed.

"And you know of stuff more 'vigilant'," Theo complemented.

"Well, enough's enough," Miguel summarized, "If we're one big TV show, ours is neither idealist nor realist. You hear me? We're a tween."

It was clear the sextet had by now dominated the debate. Rolanda disrupted the following silence. "You're just saying that to ward off all the critics."

"Believe what you will," Maya concluded.

Try as they might, Rolanda and Brock couldn't think of anything else to meet that last cryptic statement. Cops soon entered the fray, having heard it all. "Okay," one said, "Life's forever messed up, and there's nothing we can do about it. But you two are coming back home."

"Get us out of this dump," the creeps growled, and the police were only happy to comply. With that done, Miguel allowed hugs plus more.

Of course, family came first. "Oh, Miguel," Rosa said.

"I forgive you."

"Maya discovered the damaged speaker's cord and told us everything," Santiago explained, "We're very sorry."

"Ningún programa de intercambio, no?" Elena noted.

The group hug subsided. "Nope. Just a means of removing me."

"Now we know why," Maya said.

"Does this mean we'll still have the fiesta?" Tito wondered. In response, the twins just exchanged a knowing smile.

The consolation party took place within the next two days. The band conveyed their apologies not just to Miguel but everybody in attendance for overlooking the previous problem and vowed to change for the future. West By The Mountain was such a sweet melody discussing how time, nature, tranquility, reconciliation, and more healed wounds. Contemporary sounds via the drums complemented the synthesizer's urban beat with the lead member singing in a pop flavor. "Thank you all," he concluded after the performance.

Next came Miguel, Theo, and Andy's band act. This itself felt like a repeat of their first one where Santiago gave the impression of taking them over, except for an interesting difference: Come every twenty seconds, Miguel would balance both drumsticks on his pointer finger (one on the other) whenever the band needed a drum pause. "It's a trick the truck drivers taught me," he explained to Theo and Andy come act's end, "Wanna learn it sometime?" They nodded yes.

Maya, Chrissy, and Maggie topped everything off with an amateur play basically summing up the past days' incidents. What began as a simple march onstage with innocent shimmying escalated into more. Chrissy and Maggie clung together in mock-anxiety while Maya went berserk, interrupting her friends' endless sneaking at least seven times. At some points would she even pretend something hit her and a headache struck. "And that's that!" was her conclusion.

The party ended near the twins' bedtime, but they lingered a bit outside home on their stoop to make up quarrel. "I'm sorry I ever said those things," Miguel began, "You do bring excitement to all our lives."

"But you keep us straight," Maya refuted, "I should apologize this time. It's too soon for us to separate like that, I still need you to balance me out."

"And me, you. Too bad Brock and Rolanda went down that path. Guess they never had it as good as us. No muchos lo hacen."

"Pity. I think they deserve a moment of silence." Lowered heads, held hands, and silence itself dominated for seven seconds.

"So, where does that leave us?"

"After these two weeks' experiences, I'm gonna give big ideas a recess perhaps until further notice, I guess."

"Now wait a moment. I don't mind you coming up with all those ideas per se, you just need to slow down. Get my drift?"

"Exactly. I didn't say I was quitting. I just need a rest and to start small." Maya stared at the stars. "But I know this much: 5th grade must be one of the best times of our young lives. Nunca olvidaré lo."

"Same here. We did a lot of awesome stuff and made a lot of awesome friends. But you know, speaking of friends…"

"Way ahead of you," Maya said, exchanging a hug, "No matter what, you'll always be my bestest buddy ever, Miguel."

"And you'll always be mine, Maya."

The End


End file.
